Erased The Line
by Laerkstrein
Summary: In so little time, so much had changed. And the world he had known became crazier than when it had all started. Pre-FFXII.
1. Departure

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Final Fantasy_, _or any of the characters used in this fic. They all belong to Square-Enix. I only own any of my original characters that I choose to include, as well as any of my own original plot ideas.

**Erased The Line**

**Chapter 1:** Departure

**A/N:** Set six years prior to the start of the game, primarily in Archades. Not much was explained about Cid and Balthier's past, so I've developed an idea for one myself. Title comes from the following quote: "There is a fine line between genius and insanity. I have erased this line." - Oscar Levant

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><p>A fool's errand, that's what they all called it. Said that the infamous doctor of the Draklor Laboratories had finally gone and lost his head. Word always reached him, being out on the streets, running errands and collecting valuable materials. He'd even ventured through the slums of the old city, daring a chance within Sochen a time or two for sport. That's how he knew, listening to people the way a good streetear ought.<p>

But if the gentries had known who he was, they'd surely have run him off.

Anonymity had its perks.

To him, a boy of six-and-ten, it wasn't at all idle gossip. These haughty, foolish windbags knew naught of whom they spoke. Not truly. To them, the doctor was a lunatic, a man who locked himself away night after night, pouring himself out over books and schematics. He knew better, and he should have known that their words meant little, if anything, but he couldn't leave well enough alone.

"Well, now I see why Nalbina's such a hotspot these days," he would often say with a chuckle. "It would seem that the Emperor's grown wise to the fact that the streets of our great capital reek with the filth of judges without mail. He's a smart man, looking elsewhere for a pen to keep the overpopulation of swine."

He damned these people, them and their petty judgments. To Purgatory, which seemed to be quite the stretch even for devils such as these. To be certain, the gatekeeper would kick them out the moment they arrived. It would taste a lie to say that it wasn't what he wanted, to imagine their sorry souls wandering the earth without peace.

That would teach their sorry ilk.

Some would scold him, while others turned up their noses, ignorant to the fact that the boy who chastised them was, in fact, the good doctor's son. His only remaining son.

Oh, that tale from years before still had a good deal of wear left in it. Most often, he'd hear about it in Central from time to time, stopping by to eavesdrop on the fools who judged the mistake as being a crime, a sin against the gods.

"Not just killed," a woman had once said, "but murdered. By their own father, to boot. I'll have you know, that doctor's as crazy as they say. But to kill his own sons... Despicable."

A filthy lie, and Ffamran knew it. There had been no foul play in regards to the deaths of his beloved brothers. They'd each been as big a risktaker as their father, fooling around with trinkets and concoctions that had no business being within the laboratories. The first had unwisely confused two elements in the lab, forging a magick that had quickly stolen him away. The second, caught up in the automatic fire of a fighter vessel, torn almost to pieces.

But that had been near four years prior, and it certainly merited no comment from a collective of moronic stuffed-shirts.

His return to the laboratories was, once again, delayed by his own mouth, having engaged himself in an argument with an elderly gentleman who, not too kindly, had insisted that the doctor ought to be cast out into the slums and left to fend off beasts in Sochen. Were they all lucky, he'd said, perhaps the doctor would run into that fabled Wyrm. Ffamran, in not so many words, informed the man that his opinion was worth about as much as the fresh droppings of a Behemoth, and that, were he so wise as he claimed, he'd refrain from discussing matters that had nothing to do with him or his rather large nose.

Promptly, he turned on his heel and headed back to the air cab, nodding to the driver as the door closed. He was a frequent enough visitor that the man knew where to take him. The machine lifted itself off the platform, and lurched forward, the air outside whistling for a minute as it picked up speed.

Ffamran sat back against the seat, the bag that had hung at his side now secured in his lap. Within, was a wrapped parcel with his father's name printed upon the paper. It was always like this when he ventured into the streets to make pickups or to collect on favors for the old man. Always secrets, always mysteries, never clarity or truth.

He knew better than to ask, for the conversation would end with him far more confused than when it had begun. His father was as skilled with words as he was with his hands in the lab. A man born with the silver tongue of a Marilith.

It always made him wonder what was so important that it had to be kept secret, even from him, the doctor's own son. He rarely found out anything. So, he would waste his days away in a hangar of his own, fiddling with an old, abandoned fighter craft which had been destined for destruction. The machine had been a favor done for him by his father, likely to keep him busy and away from his more important discoveries. But Ffamran had been happy to do just that, keeping himself pleasantly occupied with rewiring the ship's circuitry, and replacing and cleaning the parts.

Even so, the ship alone wasn't enough to keep him from asking questions.

It was only when the cab driver raised his voice that Ffamran looked up to see the rising red stone of Draklor above. A marvelous building, probably the finest in all the capital, save for the royal palace of the emperor. He wouldn't have been the slightest bit surprised were someone to tell him that Draklor's defenses were greater than that of both the Senate house and the palace combined. The nation's best kept secrets were, indeed, within its mighty walls.

To one of the many offices on the top floors to deliver the goods, then out to his risen hangar, high above the cityscape to the point that clouds seemed to call him closer.  
>He was intercepted, almost the moment he strode into the place, an arm thrown about his shoulder, turning him elsewhere.<p>

"You have it, yes?"

Ffamran nodded, rolling his eyes. As if he even knew what "it" was. A boy, as his father had once said, wasn't supposed to know of such things. Not yet.

He pulled away, his bag just out of the old man's reach. "I ought to tell you, I've grown tired of these games. It's high time you stop being so damned secretive."

All that earned him was a laugh, interrupted by the shouting of orders, researchers scurrying past the two. Ffamran's head was on a swivel, following one of the scientists as she darted down the hallway and through a door that took her to a hangar, where was docked a vessel for travel, a number of materials caught up in her arms.

The bag was gone then, unhooked from the the strap that had been left to hang over his shoulder. The boy scowled, pretending not to notice the almost manic look on his father's face. He'd bet a thousand gil that it had something to do with...

"A wonderful thing, the powers of Magicite," began the speech. "It has given mankind much, dazzling us with spells and skies, and yet..."

"Something's still missing," Ffamran finished, sighing. The old man was so predictable. "Yes, yes, I know. I can't even count the number of times you've said that in the past two years. I swear, by the time my life comes to an end, that'll be the only thing echoing in my lonely, empty head, and it'll be entirely your fault."

"But wouldn't you like to know, Ffamran?" he laughed. "Aren't you at all fascinated by the possibilities in all this? Oh, how much more the marvel of Magicite can offer to the sciences. I'm sure the Fates jest at the foolishness of humes, but I will not be laughed at. No, no, there is still much more work to do." Cid stood there for a moment, likely struck by his own words. "That reminds me... Perhaps it is time to test our ships in Jagd... Yes, maybe..."

Ffamran scoffed aloud, snatching the bag, and removing the package from within. He wanted nothing to do with his father's toys. He had a ship waiting for him. "Whatever the hell you're planning, just tell those Fates of yours to leave me out of it. I much prefer being the captain of my own ship, thank you."

He turned away, not the slightest bit bothered by the fact that his father kept on chattering. If he'd learned anything from being Cid's son, it was that ignoring him became easier as the days went by. A lot of stuff and nonsense, it all was.

And so, the old man would leave again, vanishing for days, if not weeks, at a time, leaving his son to fend for himself. Ffamran was used to such neglect. After all, being the youngest of three sons, it had always been a common thing for him to be left behind. Eventually, he had grown tired of clamoring for others' attention, and had developed ideas and tests of his own. He liked to think that that was what had brought him his nameless vessel.

Cid would leave for Jagd, and he would be content with his own company.

Hours were spent up in the hangar, hands becoming raw and clothes dirty with grime as the ship came closer to being finished. He'd have to think of a name for her, something worthy of the machine he'd restored with his own flesh. Perhaps, by the late summer months, she'd be ready to take him far away. To the ports of Balfonheim, perhaps, just for a chance to fly across the sea, granting more freedom than he could ever have in a city full of self-important pinheads.

Oh, the memories his travels would make.


	2. Questionable

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Final Fantasy_, _or any of the characters used in this fic. They all belong to Square-Enix. I only own any of my original characters that I choose to include, as well as any of my own original plot ideas.

**Chapter 2: **Questionable

**A/N: **A few questions have made it to my inbox, regarding the hope that Fran will also appear in this. Seeing as she is a confirmed part of Balthier's life in the game, she will be present in this story.

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><p>A long and busy day had passed him by, the stains on his clothing driving him mad. Again, he'd forgotten to change into something with much more wear in it, as oil seemed to be rather fond of velvet and cotton, almost as if it were engaged in some not-so-secret love affair. To the laundry basket the day's clothes went, to be washed in the morning, and promptly returned to his room to be left to wait in the corner of the wardrobe until they would be used again.<p>

It was never pleasant, leaving that ship of his behind. She was truly his only sense of freedom, the only thing that really kept him going. There was nothing for someone like him in this city. No, the inhabitants wanted him to be someone he wasn't, wanted to change him and ensure that he never became anything like his father. Well, they needn't worry their empty heads about that, he'd decided. Ffamran had no intention of being anything like the old man, though they shared blood. Cid meant well enough, always ensuring that his youngest son was never without entertainment, but it had grown old over the past year or so, being coddled and treated like naught but a boy.

In the span of a few short months, another birthday would pass him by, marking his final passage into adulthood.

Seven-and-ten was quite the deal in the capital, as most young men went on to join the Imperial Army by this age. Some had even gone down in history as Judge Magisters, the highest upholders of the law. But Ffamran wanted nothing so shallow. It would never be enough were he to allow someone to determine his path for him.

Now, if there was anything he'd do like his father, it would be travel. For sport, perhaps, making his living off the bounties posted on the heads of the vilest of beasts. Not exactly clean work, but it was certainly better than parading around cobbled streets in mail choked with sweat and rust; better than being trapped in this massive house for the rest of his life; better than being forced into a role ill-suited to his tastes.

He would do as he wished, and wouldn't care less about other's perceptions of who he was.

A step backwards, and a fall, head leaning back into the tender comforts of bed. It was all he could to to stare through the glass dome above, watching air cabs dart across the blackened skies. Like on a chalkboard, the green streaks of their Magicite-powered engines were left across the clouds, fading away with seconds. He wondered what would happen if he ventured to attempt a Stop or Slowing spell upon the sight. Would it have the same affect as it did upon beasts and travelers, or would it simply be wasted breath and effort? Were he to have even a chance of such a thing, Ffamran would have to be much closer than this.

"_It has given mankind much, dazzling us with spells and skies..."_

Oh, that was the last thing he wanted to hear in his skull, fragments of the now-memorized speech that the old man had preached for years. Since his childhood, Ffamran remembered. Since the warm days outside by the sea of the Phon Coast, where he and his brothers would idly play until the sun struck the earth. But just how long had Cid been fascinated by the unknown? By Jagd, by Magicite, by overthrowing the gods?

About the time his mother had passed, he supposed.

Most every boy thought highly of his mother, but it had seemed that Orrum and Veltha hadn't cared for her as he had. No, they'd been far more ambitious than himself at first, choosing to spend their days outside the classroom with their father at Draklor. Ffamran, on the other hand, had preferred to be with his mother, who had been a perfect Viera in comparison to the stuck-up aristocrats of their homeland. She had moved like them as well, calm and fluid, never raising her voice higher than needed. She had never shouted at him, never mocked him, merely loved him for the timid little boy he'd been.

Cid had always been a bit wild, which made Ffamran wonder how the two of them had ever fulfilled an engagement, let alone a full-fledged marriage. But, as the tale went, she had a marvelous mind to match that face of hers, and it had been her own knowledge that had led the doctor, then the newly appointed head of Draklor, to ask her hand.

Pity, really, that the old man had never told him more than that. Even as a youth of nine years when she passed, his father had been guarded, though with laughter, about what was said about her.

"Crazy old man," Ffamran sighed, turning onto his side. "Whenever he speaks, it's in naught but riddles."

T'was fortunate that he was gone now. To Jagd, if he remembered correctly. If anything, _that_ was a foolish errand, wandering into the Mists of Ordalia, where Magicite-powered ships could not venture. Just what was he trying to prove, leading a troop of researchers into the middle of nowhere? It was a land full of sand, ruled by an ancient king, its deserts shot to the core with Wyrms. He'd never once seen the land beyond the border, but had seen enough of books and travel journals to know. Were they utterly daft, the philosophers of Archades would never have earned their titles and prestige.

Eyes moved again to the heavens, a star streaking across the lasting expanse.

"The streak," he muttered thoughtfully. "Or perhaps... the _Strahl._"

He smiled. Yes, that was it. The _Strahl. _It fit the vessel like a glove. She would be a sight to behold, nimble like the smallest of birds, but with more speed than that which had been granted the Viera. A beauty, and in a class all her own.

Really, the timing of that star couldn't have been more perfect.

****# - # - # - #****

It had not been a time for war and bloodshed between beasts, but of strength. A hand with a lone tear stretched forward, the greenery having parted just as quickly as it had grown. The Wood had never wanted her to leave, as she was reminded each morn she opened her eyes. It was the mother of her race, their lone protector against the outsiders who ventured into the jungle. And yet, long ago had she had grown weary of the ways of her people, the almost oppressive manner in which the elder kept them all in line.

Even if that elder was her own sister.

And yet, it had dawned upon her, the question that made many Viera wary of leaving the Wood: _Where shall I go? _

But that was a part of what had made this so fascinating. Beyond the trees and winding, moss-covered roads, there had been an entire world that was so much bigger than any one being. Skies and seas, valleys and cities, all waiting to be explored. All calling her name.

Yet, this city, this place where races from across Ordalia, across all of Ivalice, could gather, wasn't quite so pleasant any longer. Perhaps she'd been here too long, played at hume life a day too many. But there was no going back. Viera who left the wood were never permitted to return. Outcasts, traitors, forgotten.

It made her wonder if her judgment had been sound enough.

But seeing others of her kind, sisters long-since used to the bustling streets and strange scents, sisters who had since made their own niche in this outside realm, brought her much more peace.

Somewhere, on the face of this ever-growing planet, there was a place for her, perhaps even a man, which would welcome her fair skin and doe's eyes, and never let her go.

****# - # - # - #****

"Doctor, I think it best if we turn back."

Nonsense. They'd come this far, still soaring high over the greenery of their beloved Valendia, and it would be foolish to turn tail and run. No, there was still so much more work to do, so many more opportunities to pursue. At the end of this dark tunnel of discovery, there would be his prize, the knowledge that would fuel his experiments for decades to come, even make his name legend. Perhaps then would Ffamran truly understand the allure of science, of the mystic Magicite.

"Never. I will not be swayed so easily. No, there's something here." Cid scoffed. His gaze never left the text before him, the map lying on the table, fingers thumping against the desert. "And, it only makes sense that it would be in this pitiful nation, that which we are not meant to encroach upon. Ah, but it is just as well. His Excellency will soon make his will known to these backwater fools of Dalmasca and Nebradia, and then... Oh, then it will all be mine to pilfer as I please."

His Excellency had kept his eye focused upon the desert kingdoms for quite some time. Cid would have known, being in close confidence with his nation's king. A greater and wiser man one would never meet. But really, the freedom to do as he would was what truly drew him to the emperor's side. Such a pleasant thing, being lauded for his exploits in both science and machinery. Why, had it not been for his discovery in the use of Magicite in airships during his beginning days at Draklor, a mere twenty-and-five years prior, he never would have come so far as to direct the goings-on of the laboratories himself.

Foolishness, that of the inexperienced children following him about like lost puppies, would simply not be tolerated.

Turn back, the boy had said. A stupid suggestion indeed.

"The Feywood holds many mysteries," he laughed. "How marvelous it would be, were we to be the first to successfully return from a venture through such foul Mist."

It was laughable, the way the voices of the others died down so suddenly. Fearful were they, of the few creatures what had been documented as living beyond Golmore. But they had no need to worry, for Cid would not trust one of them with something so precious. They would go with him through the Feywood, yes, but never set foot within the dead city, that of the fabled Giruvegan. Lost through centuries within time, within the bleeding Mist that poured forth from the crevasses of its steadily fading stone.

Yes, it must have been there, within those ancient walls. "City of the Gods" one poor soul had named it. A man whose name he could not recall, who had fallen victim to the chill of the Rift following his exploration. Frozen and bloodied, as the story went.

The doctor turned, arms outstretched in a grand manner. "On this night, we depart this land of dirt and despair. We seek greater pastures, wherein lies our city of gold. The city that will yield her secrets unto the great Archadian Empire, and establish a new path for the sons of man. My children, we go to Giruvegan."


	3. Word

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Final Fantasy_, _or any of the characters used in this fic. They all belong to Square-Enix. I only own any of my original characters that I choose to include, as well as any of my own original plot ideas.

**Chapter 3: **Word

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><p>"Master Ffamran, you haven't touched your breakfast yet."<p>

"Oh, please," he replied, sinking further into the heated water. "Tell me, Sheyl, do you honestly expect me to have the slightest interest in eating when I haven't finished my bath? It's been a daily routing for the past sixteen years. Honestly..."

That wasn't it at all. He was merely fed up with servants worrying about him all the time, particularly when his father went hunting for Magicite, or whatever it was he did. It was as if they didn't believe that he, a boy nearing adulthood, hadn't the slightest idea of how to take care of himself. Of course, he did. It was no secret that Cid wasn't the perfect, nurturing father that most children were blessed with. From the time he'd been young, long before his mother's end, Ffamran had learned to fend for himself in every way imaginable, even having gone so far as to venture into the slums to purchase a Cockatrice on more than one occasion.

The woman merely nodded, and turned on her heel to walk out of the bathroom.

Somehow, it was always much more peaceful, sitting alone in a room with his thoughts. It made them so much lighter within his head, as though they'd slipped out of his ears and started bouncing across the walls. When one would strike him, it would occupy his full attention until something else decided to chance its turn.

On this morning, the subject that overwhelmed him happened to be women.

They were such strange creatures, even for humes, always prattling on in the streets about such-and-such event, or who was doing what in who's company. A lot of idle gossipers, for the most part, even those his own age, whom he had decided to promptly ignore. That wasn't at all to say that there weren't any stunningly attractive young women within Archades, but those with whom he was familiar couldn't help but stick their powdered noses into everyone else's affairs. Even worse was that many of them seemed to be quite smitten with him, the black sheep son of Cid.

Yet, on some occasions, Ffamran rather enjoyed wandering through the districts of the capital, peering over his shoulder to see just who was present, giggling and following him about. A shame to say that those pretty little things had about as much intelligence as a common house cat.

Funnily enough, the women he had taken a mild interest in, a few stray Viera come through the Aerodrome to sight-see, couldn't have given a snit about a wealthy Imperial boy. Beautiful they were, but Ffamran rather doubted that even he could handle such a creature. Soft-spoken and lithe they were, but deadly all the same. Skilled archers from the southeastern jungles of Ivalice, and certainly not the sort to be teased or lured in by sweet-sounding phrases on a silver tongue.

The bath was finished in no time at all following this thought, the warmed air struck through with the scent of a soft lilac soap. It would certainly fade before the end of the day, but the pleasure of not having grime coated upon his skin like those in the slums was reward enough.

The tub was drained, and a towel wrapped around him, it and the small carpet absorbing the moisture that fell

Then, a knock on the door.

"A visitor for you, sir," Sheyl said softly. "I must insist that you come immediately. I apologize for this misconduct, but this man is rather... nosy, shall we say? Myself and the others have tried to ensure he wait in the foyer, but he has gone right ahead and marched himself into your lord father's study!"

"Yes," he replied, grimacing, "of course."

Only one man could be quite so crass as to parade himself around another's home in search of a spare gil or two.

He dressed quickly, flattening the collar of his shirt, and throwing the towel over his shoulder to catch any remaining water. Sheyl had waited outside the door, wringing her hands and whimpering as she led him quickly down the hall to the study. The large wooden doors parted with Ffamran's weight, to yield nothing.

"The study, you say?" he teased. "Well, Sheyl, it would certainly seem that our mystery guest has better places to be."

"But he was here, Master Ffamran! I am certain of it... Why, even the cook saw him, sir!"

"Ah, quite right, quite right," chimed a third voice from down the hall. "You'd do very well to listen to what it is your servants have to say."

The two followed it with haste, parting another set of doors to enter the dining hall.

"Ah, Master Ffamran. Fancy meeting you here, of all places. Off playing games again, were we? Would explain you taking your sweet time with the bath. Mocking the beasts of Sochen will certainly soil your clothes. In truth, I am appalled. An aristocrat such as yourself ought not be wandering through such a place. Might make people think less of you and the good doctor."

Oh, what a person to arrive at a time such as this. An otherwise perfect morning it would have been, were it not for the grinning, greasy-haired streetear sitting smugly at the dining table.

"Fancy, is it? Funny. I'm quite certain this is _my _abode. Now, what have you come for this time, Jules?" he muttered, rubbing his hair dry with a towel. "It's really very unusual for your sort to have enough Chops to get up here, let alone into the city. People, as you very well know, will start to talk of. I assure you, I'm not the slightest bit interested in having my reputation sullied further by associating with the likes of you."

The peasant laughed, leaning back in a chair as he inspected the empty wine glass that had been set upon the table for Ffamran. "Oh, I guarantee, Master Ffamran, in the eight years since that unfortunate event, your dear father has done much more damage to the name Bunansa than I could do in three lifetimes. If speaking with 'my sort' is what you truly fear, I have to say you're quite the fool."

Typical of him to be waltzing into places where he didn't belong. It was not at all unheard of for a peasant to make his way up in the world, but Jules certainly wasn't the sort to do it honorably. He'd likely conned all manner of man out of his Chops. Information was key in Archades, and Ffamran was certain that his dear "friend" had sold a fair bit of dirt in regards to himself and the old man.

"That brings me to wonder," said the other, "just where your lord father be on a day such as this. I wouldn't have expected him to be present here, mind you, but it would seem that no one has seen him as of late."

"Oh, you know damn well where he is, and don't pretend otherwise," Ffamran snapped, removing the glass from Jules' sticky fingers. "I feel it only fair to tell you that I'll not be playing your game today. You've made your unfair share of gil off what scraps you've gathered from the floor, and you'll not be trusted further."

Foolish he'd been indeed, daring to trust a vulgar like this. He was certain that they were people all the same, but some of them were far worse than the others, in a class of filth of a different sort. Jules was one of these.

"No need, no need," came the laugh. "I've not arrived to beg for scraps, as you say, at the good master's table. Not at all. I've merely come to inform you of an interesting turn of events is all. But first, do tell, just how long has your lord father been gone?"

A good question, though not one Ffamran would be answering. In all the time he'd spent with his ship, now named the _Strahl_, he'd all but forgotten to count the days as he usually did. Just as well, as too much effort was frequently spent worrying about the old man, and wondering just how long it would take before he snapped enough to be applicable to enter an institution. Not that he wished such a thing, of course. It was simply that Cid had grown far too eccentric for his son's taste, obsessing to the point of losing sleep or never coming home.

It sickened him.

"No matter, no matter. I bring word of your father, Master Ffamran, that which is pleasant, and that which is not."

"Oh?" Had he been sitting, Ffamran would have leaned over the table in earnest. Rather, he draped the towel over the back of a chair, as Sheyl would come for it, and busied himself with tinkering with the trinkets on the mantle of the fireplace. "And what would that be?"

"Word has traveled quite the distance in the fortnight the doctor has been away, and it tells of ventures into Jagd."

Ffamran waved the comment off. "He is my father, Jules. Of course I know of his interest in Jagd. Tell me that isn't all you've brought."

"It has also been said, information what has been spurred in Rabanastre by part of his collective, that Cid has passed through Golmore, and reached the Mists of the dreaded Feywood. Quite the bit of gossip, this. I'm sure that many on the streets of our capital would pay a fair price for word of such things. You're lucky I don't charge you for this myself."

"Rubbish."

Only aloud, it was. Otherwise, it was a shot loaded into a firearm, let loose into the back of his head. What foolishness was the old man pursuing? They Feywood, of all places. It had only been talk in weeks past, just a bit of idle speculation, spurred on by the most curious of minds. But to take said curiosity so far as to attempt a journey within the Mist, why, it was nothing short of a death wish.

"I'd thought this would surprise you," the conman replied, sounding disappointed. "Ah, well. I've said what needs to be said, and thus, I must be off. You understand, don't you, Master Ffamran?"

"Oh, most certainly. There must be a variety of people waiting to hear your words. And while they're so enamored, they'll not notice in the slightest as you do them the favor of liberating their pockets of any unnecessary wealth."

Jules laughed, striding past Sheyl as she brought about the breakfast tray, snatching a bit of bread away.

He didn't dare look back until the doors had closed and the laughter faded. It wouldn't do to have the streetear pick up on his discomfort.

"Your breakfast, sir," came the timid voice.

He nodded curtly. "Leave it there."

She did such, heading back through the door in a quickened shuffle, leaving him in peace.

"You're crazy, you know," he said, speaking to the family portrait on the wall. Too long it had been since he'd felt such genuine comfort in this house. Far too large it was for the likes of the two of them and the servants. Yet, Cid wouldn't give it up for the world. For Magicite perhaps, but nothing less.

Such obsession, and in eight years. That wasn't to say that he hadn't always been in love with research, but it made things of the past less set in stone. Had his mother been the object of Cid's affection, or had it been her status as a member of a family what was in close confidence with the emperor? Ffamran didn't know anymore.

"You'll never be content, will you?"


	4. Unknown

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Final Fantasy_, _or any of the characters used in this fic. They all belong to Square-Enix. I only own any of my original characters that I choose to include, as well as any of my own original plot ideas.

**Chapter 4: **Unknown

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><p>It had never seemed quite so lush before, the bitter stain that the disfigured creatures left upon blade and ground. It would have been pitiful, watching their bodies fade in his wake, were he not so incredibly impressed with the technology at his fingertips. The ore of myth had never been so beautiful before, so full of life, its steady pulse felt in his very veins. And that brought about a curious idea. What would the result be, were he to deign something so mysterious as setting about the bones of man with Magicite? Perhaps a breakthrough that would bring an end to magicked armor and even weaponry, to create a near invincible army for His Excellency that would contain Ivalice in a span far shorter than years.<p>

That gaze of cool gray peered through the Mist, machines fluttering about him. They'd proven themselves quite useful, these unnamed tools of war. Why, a man on his own ought have been able to handle even a foul Behemoth with technologies such as this. It chilled him.

"Doctor, we really ought to stop for the night."

What, after all this? No, it wouldn't do. Not now, not when the surge of power had made its way through him again. It had been so long since he'd felt such pure, unadulterated elation such as this, that which made him feel like far more than a man. Casting aside their words was all he could do, pressing forward into the Mist, paying little heed to the cries of beasts and the reflections thrown at him.

What records his people had of the Feywood certainly didn't lie. A true hall of mirrors, the nesting grounds of all manner of warped, ill-tempered species, comparable to the fables that were said to live far on the outskirts of the kingdom of Nabudis. But it couldn't have been far, the gate to the city itself. Through fog and rain and even swampland they'd trekked, and to cease, even for a night, would be nothing short of sin. The venture across the border and over Rabanastre had been simple enough, with no airspace interference from the Dalmascans at all, though their ship had been clearly marked as that of the Empire.

A thought returned to him, having remembered the nation in the dust, that of days past, long before tragedy or true thrill had reached him. Days quickly following his shocking success, wherein the Emperor had made quite the bold move. To share with rival nations, those he wanted under his thumb, the power they had tamed, that of Magicite-powered vessels. A fool's idea, he had thought, but it had all been a ploy, a clever tactic with which to win over the nations of Ordalia, gain their trust.

Such a pity that, even after such a gracious proposition from His Excellency, King Raminas had severely limited contact with their great Empire. Even more so that Emperor Gramis' brilliance had failed.

Now, there was much talk of war within the Senate.

Inevitable, really. Had Dalmasca merely accepted the treaty presented in the year prior, that which suggested an alliance lead by His Excellency, such things wouldn't have been born. Yet, with the Senate being a collective of traitorous, power-hungry fools, there was never such a guarantee.

So inconvenient it would be once this venture was through, trekking back to the Rift to their vessel. And, of course, it brought Cid to wonder just how effective this research of Jagd would be; how it could be applied to airships and Skystones. Certainly something to look into once this was all completed. Once the secret to the gods' undoing was held fast in his hand.

Soon, so very soon, they would have no control over man.


End file.
